C58 The Trap of Protection

Arun adjusted the strap of his worn bag across his shoulder, the night air biting after weeks of hiding. His savings were drying up. Fear couldn’t feed him. Fear couldn’t pay rent. So he’d gone back to what he knew—the small jobs, the late hours, the dimly lit kitchens and bars that kept his head above water.

The alley behind the restaurant smelled of soy, grease, and damp pavement